


Tease

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Town of Internal Monologue [4]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: British Slang, Cuddles, Dirty Talk, M/M, Makeup, Sexy Sex is Sexy, erotic asphyxiation, flirtatious in the worst way, hybristophile, sleeping in a dead man's house, they have names yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something undeniably charming underneath all that crazy, all that hot-headed, flirtatious bullshit that he emanates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tease

**Author's Note:**

> phew... i finally finished this. probably my only real project for the month xD hopefully i'll be posting my fics with TJ soon- yes, once again, why they have names now. oh well. hopefully it doesn't throw anyone off that much.
> 
> anyway, yeah. Transporter's such a hybristophile. seriously. SKs, Arsos, and half the mafia... we love you man. but your insanity is too damn much.

It seems like it’s been barely any time at all before there’s a too-familiar figure slinging through your open window, pulling it closed behind him. You could’ve heard the familiar sound of that blaring horn, could’ve recognized that beat up bumper absolutely anywhere, but it doesn’t stop you from choking out, “You fuckin’ prick.” when you level your gaze with his, see that stupid grin sitting there, because he doesn’t care- of course he doesn’t, when has he ever? You know his smirks, his laughs, his snide comments that are enough to rile up even the most amiable of men. Not that you’re exactly amiable- rather the opposite, you think, as you prop yourself up on one elbow and raise your brow at him.

“Don’t exactly see you complainin’ about that, mate,” the Transporter replies with a god-awful grin, leaning back against the wall and folding his hands above his head. “Lovely place you got here- must be nice, sleeping in a dead bloke’s flat. Either that or you were absolutely barmy when you got to town.”

“Can’t you ever speak normally?” You sneer, giving him a smirk of your own. “Besides, I’m sure that ‘dead bloke’ would be more than happy to know that this place is getting some use. Although it could always use a bit more,” you tilt your head, offer a cheshire grin that only makes him give a wild laugh- wild, because the man was fuckin’ crazy, crazier than even you.

“You wish- probably need a man anyway, don’t you, sweetheart? Probably a bit miffed about seeing little old me again-”

“You’re a riot,” you reply, jokingly, but don’t make an attempt to move away when the Transporter moves closer, enough to press his hands down on the mattress and bring his face impossibly close to your own. “Besides, everyone knows you prefer taking.”

“Is that common knowledge now?” He replies with a grin. “Funny that. Should’ve had ‘em lining my doorstep trying to get in my pants. Though I s’pose that might take a bit of cracking first.”

“Cracking. Your accent is so cute,” you reply teasingly, before you can feel his hands over yours, pushing you down, lips pressing to yours and a tongue sliding past your lipstick-caked defenses and into your mouth. Sucking, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue running across tooth and cheek as he purrs against your lips.

“So is your disguise,” he says, pulling back and offering such a cheeky look you almost want to strangle him. Although you’re sure he’d get off on that far too much to make it any fun for you.

“Didn’t know you were looking to get fucked tonight, Kamari,” you snap at him. “I could’ve called the Godfather for you- I know you like them rough.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not her I wanted,” he snaps, before his nails are slipping into your plastics and tugging, stripping the mask from your face, smearing your lipstick as he pulls and rips and tears until it’s all gone and you’re left in utter shambles- you’re not sure why it’s suddenly so hot, because you’ve never liked people seeing your real face, and you’ve always prefered masks- you’re not even sure you’ve had sex as yourself before, and as much as you want to cry, it’s a devilish laugh that pours out from between your lips instead.

“Fuck you, Kamari Kaiis.”

“Actually, I’m the bloke this time around,” he says, pressing closer still, tugging you forward by the collar of your shirt, biting hard enough on your lower lip you can feel it tear, can feel the blood start seeping- “So, how you like it, me seeing your mug, Amauri? A bit miffed, yeah?”

“More like completely pissed.” You hiss back, but it doesn’t stop you from slamming your lips against his again, pulling on his hands as he leans closer, throws a leg over your waist. “Tearing off a man’s clothes is fine, but his face? Hasn’t anyone taught you to mind your manners?”

“My mum was a whore too. Where you think I learned my craft so well?” He retorts, before sinking teeth into the side of your throat- you gasp unintentionally, throwing your head back, letting a loud moan pass your smeared lips. You can’t keep from bucking hips against his knee- placed so perfectly between your thighs that you almost want to scream.

“You and your goddamned cheeky mouth,” you hiss, grabbing him again and pulling him closer still, enough that he can dig teeth into your collarbone as you run your too-pale hands over his impossibly flawless, dark chest. You’re pleased when you move, wrap hands around his thin waist and dig nails in, the sharp moan that arises such a pleasantry from something so small. Although you know as well as anybody that he likes to be beaten- likes to be controlled.

He draws in a breath and opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, but you’re flipping him over and pinning him down against the bed, his back hitting the mattress with a heavy thud. He’s already such a mess, you think, staring up at you with those dark eyes, ever so veiled with his heated lust. He pushes his hips up, against yours, and you don’t waste a second before you’re stripping off his torn-up jeans and slamming your face against his chest, taking deep breaths in, swallowing, grazing the soft skin of his neck with your teeth…

And then you’re digging them in and your nails are leaving long scratches over his ribcage, pulling him closer as he arches against you so well you wonder if you’ve broken. He’s throwing his head back to expose the dark skin that’s littered with teeth marks, old scars, and you can’t help it- you’re pushing a hand up to grab at his thin neck and digging it in, bringing your other up to cover it, wrap around with fingers so you can slam in and watch him struggle. His legs kick, knee pressing up between your thighs, trying to shift- but he’s sucking in air that he’s not going to get, and you’re moving one hand out, forcing fingers into his tight ass before he even has a chance to speak, let alone breathe. But that doesn’t stop him from clenching up, going rigid, arching against you like a fucking bow as he struggles for air, for anything-

You pull your hand away, pull your fingers out, listen for the Transporter’s abrupt inhale, trying to gain back breath, composure, but you can tell he’s already too far gone- writhing underneath you now, his head tilted back and his eyes shutting. You’re grabbing for the lube you’d stuck in the drawer because this isn’t unusual- and then you’re looking down at him with a sly grin, barely making a word, only a slight wink to keep him away from control. Even then, he’s rolling against your leg, trying to get you to move closer, push down and just get it on with-

“Bloody 'ell, I want you-” he’s rasping out, his hands fisting in your white shirt, trying to pull you closer, make you go faster, make you take him- you almost don’t want to, you think, still sadistic when you push your fingers back into him, because that’s what he likes, he likes it rough and violent and without any semblance of love. Because you know him, he’s slept with Serial Killers and Arsonists and half the fuckin’ mafia, but it doesn’t mean you love him any less. He’s always been such a fun playmate- in all the ways that might count, that is.

You push a third finger past the tight ring of muscle, listing for the Transporter’s keening whine, pressing closer fervently and wrapping arms around your neck, pulling you down still. He’s crying out, barely able to contain himself, and it’s such a lovely little sight, the way he can hardly stand it, you think, as you use your free hand to tug away your own pants, kick them off enough that you can fuck him, enough that you can free your dick and watch him tense in anticipation.

“You want to feel my dick pounding you? Wanna feel me inside that sweet ass of yours, turning you over and plowing you into the ground, watching you push back against my cock, screaming for it like the little whore you are? Oh, I know how much you want it- such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” You bite on the skin of his earlobe, tugging sharply with your teeth and your hands wrap around his thighs and grab and dig in…

It doesn’t take much more than his hand moving up to wind into your hair, than his breath being taken in so sharply as he bucks his hips, for you to slide hands under his thighs and pull them up and push yourself in. He tenses, face tilting to the side as if to hide his shame, but not before he’s looking back at you with an intense, lustful expression, biting down on his lip when you hike his leg up and slam yourself forward.

He’s crying out, loud and wild, arching and tugging and pushing up against your cock as he begs, stupid whines and ‘please’s and ‘fuck me’s that are enough to drive you mad. He’s so hot, thrashing about and whimpering and slamming upward to press his chest against yours, tugging you closer and trying to pull you in, force you deeper into him because he needs it. And then he’s gasping out.

“L-love that you’re sleepin’ in a dead bloke’s fuckin’ bed-”

You want to laugh, because that’s such a Kamari thing to say, something so blatant and yet something nobody else would have touched upon, but it’s that specific detail that makes him whine and push back harder and spread his legs further apart as you try and find the right angle to make him scream-

You’re too goddamn out of it to notice much aside from your own pleasure, growing further and further as the pressure builds in your cock, trying not to let your own moans out when he clenches so tightly around you and cries out and digs nails into your back, drags them along your spine… he’s so fuckin’ tight, you almost don’t want it to end, but you can feel the pressure building and then there’s white behind your eyes and you’re thrusting automatically, in overdrive as your cum spills over and you give a last thrust, burying yourself up to the hilt inside the Transporter’s body, so goddamn good that you’re not sure you have words…

He’s still tense, clinging to you before you pull away and roll over onto your back, doing little more than sparing him a glance as you hiss out, “What?” But the word comes out more exhausted than snappish, and you’re not surprised when a dry laugh erupts from the Transporter’s throat-

“Yes, you’re quite right. I am a slut- but you love it. They all do.”

You can’t deny that. There’s something undeniably charming underneath all that crazy, all that hot-headed, flirtatious bullshit that he emanates. People are drawn to it, and you’re no different, not even when he pulls the hem of your shirt up and you slip arms away so he can pull it over your head.

“You owe me for those plastics, moron,” you snap back, giving him an exasperated glare.

“Aw, but I just wanted to see how attractive you really were-” He starts, but you cut him off with a kiss pressed to his mouth, tongue teasing the corners of his lips before pulling back.

“Thought you’d like the image of fucking a dead man.”

“Nah, fucking a liar’s much better- you, my friend, are a master manipulator. Bloody… goddammit, I love you frauds. Such an ace behind that pretty mask of yours.”

“Only you would say that,” you reply, giving him another look as you wrap an arm around him and pull him flush against your chest, his back resting against it, already far too tired to move, it seemed. You barely spare a glance to the clock, instead taking time to curl around the Transporter and press your face to the side of his neck, inhaling the scent that was rolling off of his hot, dark skin- almost like cinnamon, you think, something spiced and sweet all at once.

“You’re one to talk, little Disguiser,” he says, but nonetheless accepts it. You can feel his heavy breathing, the movements of his chest as he looks back at you and presses a final kiss to your lips. “Good night, honey bunny,” he adds jokingly, and you just press a kiss to the base of his throat and sigh.

 **  
** “Good night.”


End file.
